what they call hard feelings
by The Peace
Summary: Helplessness is a twelve letter word, but vulnerability is thirteen. Jess and Dess grow closer, after Melissa touches Dess. [Jessica/Dess]


me, reading midnighters in 2008: awww dess and jess are cute together, i wish we got to read more about their friendship  
me, rereading in 2017: dess and jess are clearly in love, how did i not see it before

notes: i don't remember jack about high school trig. also i gave jessica a love of baking just because i feel like she should have a hobby? and i wanted it to be something that kind of tied in with flame-bringing, like she's very good at, uh...heat conduction. also gave her a love of spicy food, again, as a way her power affects her daylight life. none of this is canon, i just love jess and want her to have more personality than she actually does :(

title from "hard feelings" by lorde.

* * *

 **what they call hard feelings**

Dess hates how normal everything becomes, afterward.

"They're still planning something," Rex had warned, his head full of darkling knowledge now. "This - tonight - was just - it wasn't -"

He can't find the words, not that Dess blames him. _She_ can't find the words, and she wasn't the one kidnapped and drugged and turned into a monster.

She _was_ the one frozen in the backseat of Melissa's car, the mindcaster's cold hand gripping her chin, turning her mind inside out. She was the one whose mind and memories had been all knotted up by Madeleine, and then Melissa had sliced through the knot and left the threads hanging.

Dess had been there, too.

But no one seems to want to think about that.

Dess doesn't remember not sleeping, but knows she doesn't, somehow. More memories that aren't hers, anymore. She wakes up early for the first time in her life, pale morning light coming in through her windows, and wonders if she's an early riser now, if she was made into something new and different last night too.

"Morning," Jessica mumbles, sitting up from the air mattress on the floor. Her hair is mussed from sleep. It looks like it's going to fly away from her head, the way it looks when she's all electrified after a rumble. There are bags under her eyes, and she blinks a few times before she manages to look at Dess properly. "How are you?"

Dess shrugs, picks at her quilt. "I'll live."

Jess shuffles over to the edge of the bed and leans her chin on it. She looks at Dess with big green eyes, sad and sympathetic. "We can talk about it, if you want."

"I don't want."

Jess studies her. "Okay." Light as a feather, she touches Dess's wrist. "But I'm sorry, you know. For not stopping her."

Dess just nods, the words not coming.

They eat breakfast while they wait for Jessica's dad to come pick her up. Before she goes, Jessica flings her arms around Dess and hugs her, quick and tight. Her body is warm and solid, and Dess lets herself be held, just for a moment. Jess whispers, "I'm sorry, again. And I'm here if you need me, okay?"

Dess doesn't want to need anyone, especially not Jess - because look, she likes the flame-bringer, but Jessica is still _Jessica_ ; her wardrobe is all pastels and she genuinely likes Constanza Grayfoot. The only people Dess has ever been okay with needing are Rex and Melissa, her matching set, but then, that's - well, that's nothing she wants to count on, anymore.

On Monday, she's debating if she even wants to carry her textbook to history class - she's not even going to pay attention - how can she - so what's the point? She's staring into her locker like it contains the secrets of the universe when she feels a prickle on her neck.

Dess looks up to see Rex and Melissa walking down the hall together, as usual. _Oh_. That's just - well, fine, if Rex wants to give Melissa the credit for saving his life, as though it wasn't Jessica and Flyboy bounding over the desert to find him, that's - well, that's actually to be expected. It's Rex and Melissa, has always been Rex and Melissa. Rex can act like they're a team all he wants, but there's no _Melissa_ in _team_.

She turns back to her locker, wills them to walk past her.

They don't.

"Dess," Rex's voice says.

She's decided to bring her history textbook with her anyway, and turns around with it in her hand. It takes all her effort not to bean him - or Melissa - or both of them - with it.

Rex looks...not great. He's wearing his glasses, but even in the five seconds after Dess turns around to face him, he's already pushed them up and down his nose twice, like he doesn't know if he should be wearing them or not. His hair's short, and it just looks - is it weird to say a forehead can look vulnerable? Dess doesn't know, her thing is numbers, not words, but his face looks so uncomfortably open without his hair to cover it. She hates that she can still think of teasing words to say, jokes to make. She doesn't want to say any of that to him now.

Melissa brushes his hand, and Rex's expression clears. Dess inhales sharply. "Do you guys need something?"

She's trying to needle them, but Rex ignores it. "How are you?" he asks. Melissa has the grace to be looking at the floor. Well, grace or cowardice. With her newfound powers, Dess hopes Melissa heard that.

"Fantastic," Dess says. "Thanks for asking."

"What you figured out from the maps and everything," he says awkwardly. "We couldn't have done it without you, Dess. I wouldn't be here without you. So...thanks."

She nearly chokes on her disbelief. _That's_ what they have to say to her? That's what Rex, Mr. Seer-Knows-Best, thinks is helpful?

"Whatever," she mutters, because she's not cruel enough to say that she regrets it, and deep down, that wouldn't be true, anyway. But she doesn't know how to say anything else.

Jonathan catches up with her after second period, squeezes her shoulder and asks if she's going to eat lunch with them today. That's as close as Flyboy gets to emotion, Dess knows.

Jessica is the only one that says sorry.

* * *

They stop talking about it before they really even start. In the next few days, Jess tries for humor. "I really don't know what to do with my life now that I've seen Rex naked," she says one day at lunch.

Dess doesn't feel much like contributing to the conversation. She stabs the cafeteria mac-and-cheese with a plastic fork and calculates the seconds until she can go home, factoring in the velocity of the bus just to make it interesting. Based on previous observations, it's only 68% likely that the bus will leave exactly at 3:25, which throws a bit of a wrench into things.

" _What?_ " Jonathan sputters. He nearly chokes on his peanut butter-and-banana bread sandwich, and Dess has to lean over and thump him on the back, because Jessica is laughing too hard.

"You know, when I hosed him down with the flashlight," she says.

"Where was _I?_ " Jonathan wants to know.

"You were covering your eyes," she says.

Jonathan's mid-bite, and the conversation stalls. Both of their eyes dart over to Dess.

She's probably going to get home at 4:15, rounding to the nearest quarter. And - oh, they want her to say something. "Probably a good idea," she says, and their relief is so obvious, Dess doesn't need to be a mindcaster to feel it.

(Across the cafeteria, Melissa looks up. Dess props her chin on her hand and pretends to be absorbed in Jessica's rapidly declining physics grade.)

* * *

Dess has never really liked study hall any more than her other classes - yeah, fine, it's not really _class_ , but she's also still stuck in school with nothing to do but stupidly easy trig homework. She's come to appreciate it more, though - likes having an excuse to be alone. For a whole forty-five minutes, she doesn't have to pretend to be okay.

She parks herself in her usual place, tries to ignore the chatter coming from Constanza's table. What does Jessica even talk about with them? How can Jessica even be thinking about anything except that night?

Dess opens her notebook, a twinge going through her when she sees everything she'd been working on for weeks - calculations, maps, jotted-down questions that make her look like a conspiracy theorist. All that work, for everything to turn out like this.

She tries to swallow the feelings. Dess doesn't want to pity herself, it's just - it's just -

These feelings are _hard_ , in all the senses of the word. They are hard to feel, they are hard to deal with. Dess has gotten good at brushing this sort of thing off, knowing there are bigger things in this world than high school drama or family squabbles. But this hurt is different - she can't ignore it, she can't make it go _away_. Things changed that night, and that scares her, and that - and that's just another feeling she doesn't know how to make nice with.

"Hey, Dess."

Jessica drops into the chair across Dess's table. Dess really hates just _how_ pleased she is whenever Jess comes over here, whenever she ditches Constanza and her groupies and chooses Dess. It's such a small thing, but watching Jess open up her trig book and tuck her red hair behind her ears in preparation to study makes Dess feel a little better, somehow.

Jess doesn't say anything else. Dess pushes her notes across the table and Jess studies them, copying them into her notebook.

"Sum...and difference...identities..." she mutters. "Ugh, I should've just let the darklings kill me."

"Are you going to switch to regular trig?" Dess asks. "Wasn't your mom going to let you?"

It's true that watching Jess struggle with something as simple as binomial theorem is kind of painful, but being alone in class would also suck, Dess has to admit.

"And deprive myself of your company?" Jessica taps her pencil against her lips and smiles. "Now, why would I do that?"

Dess feels her face warm, and she looks down at her notes. "I have no idea."

"Hey," Jessica says. "You should come over this Friday. We didn't get to have a real sleepover, after all."

Dess hasn't been invited to a sleepover since fifth grade. Well, she's crashed at Melissa's house before, and vice versa, on nights when the cops were out in full force and there was no way they could bike home. It had been kind of fun, those days before Melissa had revealed herself to be evil incarnate. They watched whatever crappy movies they had on tape, ragged on Rex and Flyboy and the daylighters at school until they fell asleep.

Once, Dess remembers, they had been watching a movie about a gothy girl who got bitten by a werewolf, and her equally gothy younger sister was trying to save her.

"That's you," Dess had said lightly, as they watched the werewolf girl sulk and glare at her parents.

"Whatever," Melissa had said. Then, with just a hint of amusement coloring her voice, she'd added, "The little sister is _you_."

Jesus, it had been such a small thing. But for a moment, it had felt like - Dess had let herself believe - Melissa liked her, at least a little. That they were all friends, that it was the three of them, not just Rex and Melissa and the tagalong kid.

She sucks in a deep breath. Well, she knows better now.

Jess nudges Dess's foot with hers. Dess looks down at them - her in her black combat boots, Jess's beat-up white tennis shoes - and feels half a smile come on her face, thoughts of the bitch goddess pushed to the back of her mind.

She doesn't have to pretend around Jessica, either.

* * *

On Friday, Jessica tells Flyboy not to bother coming over.

"Um, why not?" he asks, brow creasing.

"Because I'm hanging with Dess," Jessica says.

Something that's not entirely disappointment flickers across Jonathan's face, and Dess wonders if he's just a little relieved to have an entire midnight all to himself. She's kind of alarmed to realize that _she's_ relieved - relieved at the way Jess smiles at her across the lunch table, that Jess says the words in her usual sunny tone of voice, doesn't roll her eyes the way Melissa would.

"My parents are way excited, just warning you," Jess says as they get off the bus. "They were like, 'We're finally meeting one of your friends!' They might bring out the fancy silverware. Don't be surprised."

Jessica's mom isn't home yet, but her dad and sister are. Beth looks like a mini-Jess: same red hair, same splash of freckles. She's sitting at a desk in the living room, books and papers spread out around her, Google on the computer screen.

Her dad's watching TV. So hey, that's something Jess and Dess have in common.

Jessica's dad makes taco salad for dinner, and Dess watches in fascination as Jess pours some hot sauce on it, takes a bite, then picks the bottle up again and dumps a good quarter of its contents on the meat. Then she digs in.

Maybe it's a flame-bringer thing.

* * *

It turns out that Jessica likes to bake, and announces that they're going to make cookies - two baker's dozens, which will make them a multiple of thirteen instead of twelve.

"Can cookies attract darklings?" Jessica wonders idly, tossing Dess an apron. Dess raises an eyebrow at it - it's blue gingham, with flowers printed on it, although it's got a liberal splattering of red that looks like blood - but puts it on anyway. Jess is wearing a purple one with cats, so they both look about equally ridiculous.

"Do not mock the aprons," Jess says seriously. "That's Beth's, and wearing it is an honor."

Dess's eyebrow is still raised, and that just makes it go higher.

"Okay, not really," Jess says. "Beth is more of a cooking-spaghetti girl. She shows up to eat the dough and lick the frosting."

"Does that mean that's my job?" Dess asks hopefully. She can boil pasta and make brownies out of the box, but she does _not_ bake from scratch.

"Nope," Jess says. "You taught me to solder, and I am teaching you to bake."

Baking's not something Dess would have ever thought she enjoyed, but there's an odd comfort in it - the pure numbers of the measurements and ratios, familiar to her even in this new form. A zip of satisfaction goes through her when she scoops out a cup of flour and slides the excess off, leaving a flat, precise amount in the measuring cup. Her life could use more precision these days.

"Are we out of eggs?" Jess asks, peering into the fridge. "Ugh, I guess we are. Does no one actually read what I put on the shopping list?"

She rummages around and pulls out a jar of mayonnaise instead.

"Uh, Jess? I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure mayo and cookies don't go together."

"Uh, Dess," Jess mimics, "mayonnaise _is_ eggs. Read the back of the jar."

"You're telling _me_ to read? This from the girl who mixed up literally all the numbers on our trig quiz?"

"You know what?" Jess asks, then laughs and flicks some flour at her. Dess squeaks, looking down to see white on her black skirt and tights. "Wow, so that's what you look like in white."

"Shut up," Dess says, but laughter is bubbling out of her, and she can't make it stop.

"Ugh, keep it down," Jess's little sister says, passing the kitchen. "I'm going to my room. See ya, Dessica."

"Is that supposed to be one or both of us?" Jess calls back.

"Both, duh," Beth says, popping her head around the doorway. "Since you two are _basically_ one person now."

Jess rolls her eyes as Beth flounces off. "She thinks she's so smart. We haven't hung out like, hardly ever." She pauses, stirring the cookie dough. "Hmm, Melissa has a double-S name too. That would make us what, Delissica? Bitch-goddessica?"

Dess laughs, but privately she thinks: she doesn't want Melissa in this at all. Or Rex, or Jonathan. She likes this, likes being here, just her and Jess.

* * *

Dess has never seen Jess's room in normal time. It looks a little more lived in than the last time she's been here - there are some clothes piled on a chair, books and papers piled on the desk. Neat piles, but piles nonetheless. The computer on her desk has a pulsing light indicating that it's just sleeping.

Jess stretches out on her stomach and Dess props herself up on the pillows, music playing quietly as background noise. Jessica has a few CDs that are intriguingly unsaccharine, _almost_ the kind of music Dess likes. They eat the cookies and talk about stupid shit - school and classmates and family. Dess tells Jess about the kids she's known for years, about how Timmy Hudson used to beat Rex up, and how people used to make fun of her for living across the street from a trailer park. Jess talks about Chicago, about how people used to call her Chucky and Raggedy Ann in middle school, and how she and her sister used to be close.

"I hate keeping all this stuff from her," Jess says. "But it's like, she would never believe me. And even if she did, she wouldn't get it. What it's like."

"Yeah." Dess reaches up to play with one of her necklaces, zipping the thirteen-pointed star back and forth on its chain, so hard she thinks it might snap off. She hates this, too - how tied she is to Melissa, still. No matter what happens, the other midnighters are the only ones who really understand - the thrill and wonder of midnight, the danger. Even Jessica feels it too, daylight as she is. Dess has seen her after a rumble, her face all lit up, almost physically sparking from the fight. Dess can hate Melissa and Rex - does hate them sometimes - but they're part of midnight, part of her. She can't cut them out.

"Hey." Jess reaches over and stills her hand, taking it in hers.

The CD player dies as the blue time washes over the room. Dess freezes, keeping her eyes on the ceiling, afraid to look at Jess. Her entire body feels awake all of a sudden, every nerve alive and conscious of the girl next to her.

"Are you really okay?" Jess asks, her voice gentle, but loud in the sudden silence of midnight. She doesn't let go of Dess's hand.

If Dess were a robot, it would be so easy to program herself to say the words _I'm fine_ every time someone asked _Are you okay?_ She can visualize it in her head - simple input, output. She wants to say the words, she's ready to -

But she's not a robot, and they don't come out. Instead, something in her breaks. It's Jess's voice, the way her palm is pressed against Dess's. It's more feelings she doesn't know what to do with.

"I don't know," she says.

Jess is quiet for a moment. Then: "That's okay, too."

She crawls closer to Dess and puts her arms around her, a gesture of comfort that Dess would never have thought to ask for. But it is everything, suddenly, to be this close to Jess, to feel the other girl's heart beating right next to her own.

Slowly, she turns into Jessica's embrace, closing her eyes against her neck. She breathes in and lets herself just _be_ , surrounded by the warmth of Jess's arms and her soft hair and the smell of vanilla and flour. Her brain has gone oddly quiet, all her calculations and theories escaping her.

Well, not all theories. There's one left, lingering.

Slowly, Dess pulls back, her face just an inch from Jessica's. Her midnighter eyes can see Jess perfectly, the ring of blue - green in the daylight, she knows - around her wide black pupils, the fringe of her lashes. Her eyelids are heavy in concentration, all of her focus on Dess.

Jess reaches out to push Dess's hair back from where it's fallen over her face. Her touch lingers, fingers tracing the shell of Dess's ear. "You're so pretty, Dess," she says, her voice soft.

Dess's breath catches. Jess's hands are in her hair, and she is looking at Dess, and Dess - Dess has never let herself think about anyone looking at her this way. Thinking leads to wanting, and suddenly she _wants_ so much that it scares her. She wants Jess, wants to touch her. She used to think that Jess smiles too much, that she's far too happy when it's daylight, but now she wants all of Jess's smiles, wants that soft fondness on her face. Like she cares about Dess - like _she_ wants _her_ , wants her just as she is. Not as a pawn, as the useful little polymath putting the pieces together for everyone else.

Jess is looking at her, and Dess thinks maybe these feelings don't always have to hurt.

"Is this weird?" Jess asks. Her fingers shift a little, stroking the nape of Dess's neck. It makes her shiver, but the good kind - the kind of shiver Dess gets when she's coming to the end of an equation, when the path to the solution is perfect and clear and there's only the rush of getting there.

"No," Dess says, and then Jess leans in and kisses her.

Melissa always makes fun of the couples sucking face at school, and Dess had always agreed with her, but actually - if this is what kissing is like, she is going to have to rethink her stance on it. Jess is so perfectly close to her, her lips soft and a little chapsticky on Dess's dry skin.

Dess sighs, letting Jessica press her a little deeper in the bed. Jess's long red hair is falling over them like a curtain, like their own little world here in this room. Dess kisses her back, clumsily at first, then with more confidence. The shiver in her is freezing and burning at the same time now, like Jessica's touch is heating her up. More flame-bringing. Ha.

It occurs to Dess that in the silence of midnight, Melissa probably feels them, probably knows exactly what they're doing. Then she decides - she doesn't care. After everything, this is the only thing that feels good and whole, not broken and messed-up like these past few weeks have been.

Slowly, gently, they part. "Dess?" Jess murmurs.

"Mm?"

"I'm glad it's you. I mean, I'm glad you're here."

Dess is, too. She's something more than glad, maybe - she can't name what it is, but maybe that's okay, too. Instead, she just lets herself feel it, and for now, it's enough.


End file.
